Frosted Dust
by BKN6006
Summary: Some years after the battle with Pitch, a despondent Guardian has retired to his hideout and given up hope. Then a visitor arrives on the worst day of the year-the day the Guardian lost his best friend.How far will this Immortal go to set things right again? No slash-sex.
1. Chapter 1

FROSTED Dust – An R.O.T.G. FanFic by BKL8008 - Page 15 of 15

 **"** **The end is only the beginning of the best friendships."**

 **Frosted Dust**

 **Act I**

 **The End**

Somewhere far away in the chilly and misty morning, a train whistle was blowing.

Glancing lazily at a years-outdated calendar as he passed by it, and knowing all too well the reason why he had looked at it, the gaunt young man moved on through the rambling old house with no real destination in mind.

At least, with no _conscious_ destination in mind.

He didn't linger in the parlor, where once there had been singing and life. Frosted dust covered the grand piano, its keys icing over with a soft crackle as he passed. But the dancers had all long since gone away.

Passing through the darkened dining room, where all the tattered curtains were drawn over windows etched in odd, frosted designs of ice, he dragged his pale and cool fingers across the surface of the ornately carved table that could easily serve a feast for forty or fifty. Designs of frost, at one time resembling flowers and leaves, spread over the table, covering it, as it already did the windows. Now, however, the patterns resembled something that might have come from a nightmare. Something rustled in the curtains, but he paid no mind to the slight sound. Years ago, perhaps, he might have thought that it was someone finally seeing him and taken action.

But not today.

Not on _this_ day.

Just enough gray, morning light leaked through the remnants of the curtains to give the room an almost ethereal glow. But the curtains were ever drawn, never allowing much light to enter. Neither sunlight, nor moonlight. Especially not moonlight. Not that he would have lit a candle anyway; he knew the room, as he knew the rest of the house, so very well that he could navigate its corridors in the dark. No, the light was too painful, he knew, as the tip of his staff tapped along the floor, leaving little heaps of snow in its wake.

Indeed, in years past, that frosty table had served many a feast when it had shone with all the radiance of new and polished, fine and expensive wood. Absently knocking a tarnished silver fork off onto the floor, the man sighed and continued on without stopping to pick it up. He didn't even notice the subtle shimmering sound as the silver utensil frosted over. There was no reason to retrieve it. The last meal served on the table had long ago frozen solid, forgotten, with not even a mouse to come and carry it off. Not that it would have wanted, or even been able, to.

"The table is set, but the glasses all dry," he mumbled, suddenly recalling all of the happy times, surely from another lifetime – _that_ he knew – when he'd sat there himself, straining to see up over the edge. But no, _that_ table has been much smaller. He'd even tried sitting on a section of a cut log to be able to reach the wonderful smelling (if not meager servings of) foods and treats that he knew he would find there. Laughter had once filled the room at the sight of cream smeared all over his nose; he hadn't known it was there. And why were they laughing at him? He'd just sat there, perplexed to be the subject of such looks, a spoon in each hand, and had later burned in embarrassment when he'd had his little round face wiped with a scrap of rough cloth.

But then he'd laughed.

And so had she.

How long ago, he wondered, had that little boy and girl sat at that smaller table? How long had it been, since that _other_ boy had sat at _this_ very table, the very first house guest to the new 'secret hideout'?

"Secret," he scoffed, knowing full well that anyone who believed could see it. It wasn't that far from downtown-proper, after all. Just outside the suburbs, in fact, where the forests began before ascending into the mountains.

Pausing to look back, and surprising himself in doing so, he thought that the frosted, dry and dead centerpiece of cut flowers should have been taken to that one special guest's mother so long ago. He'd tell her where he'd been, of course. Not that anyone would believe it. He'd insisted. But his mother had only laughed at his imagination, but then scolded him. "I don't want you playing with the other kids in that falling down, old wreck of a house! Why the town council doesn't tear it down..."

"But Mom," he'd protest, "It's not! And it's an historical landmark!"

They'd forgotten the flowers.

Once upon a time, there had been cherries, hot fudge, and moist chocolate cake with ice cream on a small china plate that now only held frosted dust. He wondered if it might be stuck fast to the table.

Lingering, the man paused to place his hands on the back of the high-backed leather chair at the head of the table. Like all the rest, it was pushed in. His fingers left elongated handprints in the frost, as if someone had reached out and found that chair, clinging to it for dear life, before losing his grip and falling away into some dark and unknowable, frozen abyss.

No guest was coming to the feast of frost that was being served cold today.

"But…?" He whispered, looking down the length of the table to see one place set that was hosting clean serving ware, a clean crystal goblet free of frost, and the smaller chair pulled out to reveal a very thick book that was also free of frosty dust.

He inhaled sharply, once, through his nose. A gasp, really – as if he'd been holding his breath without knowing it.

A cloud of icy mist filled the room as he exhaled, shoulders slumping.

He turned away once more, leaving behind the cracked plate, moldering napkin, and goblet that held nothing. Frost blossoms spread up the stem and covered it, winter beauty in shades of gray. The blossoms then twisted, their beauty perverted, writhing up the stemware as if in pain.

Then the goblet burst.

Moving past the fireplace, where upon the mantle sat assorted frosty old odds and ends – relics of a bygone time – he kicked a stray piece of firewood aside with another sigh.

There had been no fire lit in that fireplace for a _long_ time, and the ashes of the last one to burn there still lay in the grate, as if waiting for someone to come and sweep them up. Perhaps they waited, to be given purpose in fertilizing a flower garden where now nothing grew; only weeds that sprang up and died quickly in the dry and frozen, unforgiving earth.

But the fireplace remained cold. No, there was no need of a fire. Surely _he_ didn't need it, and surely no guests were coming who would. No, they never came anymore. It was far too cold. Not even his old enemy, who thrived in the cold and dark, could bear it.

The man passed by the fireplace with only a quick glance at his watch.

As he moved up the long marble staircase, his hand leaving a frozen trail of icicles in the frosted dust that lingered on the banister, each step bringing him closer and closer to his unrealized destination, his bare feet began to grow heavy.

Once athletic and trained, eternally young and vital, a terror to any physical challenger, the past few years had worn away that health and vitality at an astonishing rate. Yet still he climbed, his legs protesting. There wasn't even the faintest breeze to help him along, to lift him up. With a wry and faint grin, he wondered if he himself might not already be covered in frosted dust, as was the rest of the silent, crumbling old manor that only he now haunted.

Looking back down when he'd reached the top step, he saw only one set of footprints in a size that seemed far too large. There should have been another, much smaller set to accompany his. He listened to the frosty, dusty silence.

All along the hallway, down which he now shuffled with no spring to his weary step, only empty picture frames or ripped canvases greeted him. He'd once wished that he had a camera, but even the _best_ Kodak prints that he'd once treasured faded in the cold. Small puffs of frosted dust sprang up in tiny clouds from the fraying carpet, only to settle back, unnoticed.

He glanced once more at his watch, then realized that it wasn't running.

"When did it stop?" He thought, realizing that not only did he not know, he did not care.

It was a silly affectation, he knew. He had no need of a timepiece. He wasn't even sure why he still wore it. _Because it had been_ _ **his**_ _…_ Just as he had no need of a calendar. After all, what was time to him? Or even Time Himself?

 _I am the frost on the bottom half of the hourglass_ , he thought.

He knew what day and time it was.

He always did.

It was _that_ day.

And it was time to go.

Before him stood a door.

A closed door.

Without looking, as his hand knew the way so very well, he reached down to grasp the polished and shining silver handle, the shape of which reminded him of a shepherd boy's staff. He wondered how long that staff would wait, patiently, as shepherd boys must be, to rescue the lamb that would never come?

The door squealed in protest on cold hinges as he gently eased it open, yet no frosted dust fell from its casing.

Not _this_ door - the only door in the whole house that he even opened these days.

He squinted in the sudden light, dull as it was that misty morning, and more heard than saw that it had begun to snow. Large flakes hit against the dingy glass panes with a "SPLAT!" sound that he promptly tuned out.

It was always snowing, or so he thought. It felt like winter.

He liked that.

He shivered as he came on into the room proper, seeing that the left pane of the split window was open. Yet the curtains were open in this, the only room in the empty house, where light was allowed to come: sunlight, moonlight, starlight. Yes, even moonlight. But if They ever spoke to him, he ignored Them. It had been too long since They'd conversed.

Outside the window, the upper branches of a naked tree (he forgot the species) waved in the gray morning light and snow, reaching up, he thought, like hands raised in supplication to some unknown and uncaring god that would never so much as give them a first glance. Indeed, they had been reaching up for so long, ever reaching further and further, that he recalled a time when they hadn't been there. Yet still they reached, pleading for an answer that would, likely, never come.

He recalled a time when they had been green. When other things had been green and growing. Growing, full of the hope and promise of new beginnings. New life.

"It feels like winter," he whispered, as he promptly stumbled over a rusty sled, just as he did each time he came in. He dropped his staff.

With trembling hands, whether from the cold or something else that he couldn't feel, he gently and lovingly returned it to its place near the door where it always waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

But that was all it did.

It waited.

It never zoomed down hills, or out into streets, or went on any more of those wild rides.

No one did; not anymore.

After all, the frosted dust was constant.

The snow remained unbroken.

Just as the room remained.

Just as _he'd_ left it.

Alone in a home that now seemed more like a mausoleum, he thought, as he gazed out at the frozen pond near the edge of the dead, leafless forest where Spring never came. Once upon a time, he'd counted himself lucky that he'd found the old abandoned house that someone had built here long ago. The rambling house, which sat atop the unknown ruin of a forgotten and long since collapsed hovel of a centuries-dead shepherd family.

Lying on the unmade bed were a forgotten T-shirt and hoodie, and a blue insulted vest with a red stripe, the only bright spot in the lonely room. A few toys, models, things that could only be long-forgotten treasures to some other personality, lay scattered about the floor. Odds and ends lined the shelves, along with various awards that now – although covered in frost and dust – had once been displayed with pride and glowing words of praise to anyone who would listen.

Before the dancers had all gone away, they had listened.

But no longer. Salvaged from a charity donations bin were the worn plush bunny, the sled, a used art box and partial ream of paper, a toy robot, a baseball bat, a hockey stick, and a few books. One of them bore the title: _**They're Out There—Mysteries, Mythical Creatures, and the Unexplained Phenomena**_. Relics they were, with tales to tell – and no one to listen to them. The latter was even autographed.

 **SPLAT – SMACK – SPLAT!  
**  
Somewhere, a train whistle blew.

The man jerked his pale, gaunt face towards the window, still absently fondling the vest in his trembling hands. "What an awful, clashing color," he muttered, neatly folding it and placing it back on the bed. He wondered if he'd only imagined the whistle, as he made to yank on the stars-and-planets printed comforter and make the bed. He found a satin hockey jersey, this one blue. On the back was a name and a number on the front, emblazoned with a large snowflake graphic. _The boys named the team,_ he remembered, having never missed a single game – or a single knocked-out tooth. Yes, it was an occupational hazard, despite the protective gear. His friend had so dearly loved the sport, too. She never missed a game, either. Or the night after a game. No, not the night!

But instead, he simply sat down on the bed and reached for the lonely and tattered, dirty old stuffed bunny.

"You don't have to do much. Just a little sign, so I know," he told the toy, placing it back on the pillow where he'd found it. "Not today. Perhaps tomorrow, then?"

The bunny stared back at him with dusty, uncaring, black-button eyes.

Once upon a time, the plush toy had been loved. The bald spots of his cold plush bore silent testimony, but the man did not listen. One of the toy's loose ears needed sewing back on.

The man's colorless eyes were roaming over the dusty old dresser, its drawers all pulled halfway out with socks, pants, shirts, shorts, trousers, and icicles hanging from their edges like executed criminals. Once upon a time, those eyes had sparkled with azure mischief, but as they fell upon the blue and green plaid pyjama trousers and gray top with green sleeves, a crystal tear fell to the floor. It lay there like a diamond, unnoticed amongst all the others.

A little pair of frosty size six ice skates sat off to one side of the dresser.

"I think they were getting too small," the man sighed again, picking up one of the little skates and cradling it to his chest, stroking away the dust, which was replaced with frost. "Should donate them, yes, some poor child would love you, no?" He asked the skate, running his free hand through his disheveled, white hair.

But the skate only said as much as the plush bunny had.

"Perhaps," he started to say, but stopped as his eyes once again fell upon the sled.

He glanced from the sled to the what-not shelf and back to the bed.

He stood up, thinking to put away the clothes in the closet, the skates and boots with their others, to hang up the wrinkled and mildewed outerwear before they could wrinkle even worse. Like the sled, they had deserved so much more than to be left – dumped – in some cold, impersonal donations bin in the middle of the night.

The nose of the sled was dented. A runner was bent.

Mouth agape, he stared as a small rivet finally gave way and a cracked board fell from the small, rusted frame.

"Jamie," Jack Frost then whimpered, clutching the mildewing pyjama top to his chest, as a great dry sob escaped him and echoed throughout the deserted corridors of Frost Manor.

 **"JAMIE!"** The agonized scream then followed it.

It echoed through the hall and down the stairs, through the deserted dining room and out into the empty parlor where it crossed the spacious sitting room. It echoed all around the receiving room and out through the library, and then finally, into the foyer and out the unlocked front door, which banged pointlessly on its cold, squeaking hinges, then out into the snowy morning of the worst day of the year.

Overheard, dark clouds gathered and swirled. The wind howled high above, threatening to unleash a blizzard the likes of which the world had never seen before, and certainly would never see again, should it finally break. Certainly, it would bring about the next Ice Age, should it be unleashed.

But the storm never broke. He wouldn't let it. He couldn't let it. To do so would bring too much pain, too many memories.

Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded again.

But there were no birds in the naked trees to take flight in startled panic at the sudden, anguished sound that echoed up into the hills and died.

And if there was anyone at all to hear it, anyone to care, they made no sign of that. Not even the old Crone, Melancholia (or as some knew her, Malaise, Depression, Despair) ignored it. Even she, his only companion for so long, had finally grown weary of his company and left him.

The frosty dust did not move.

"Must get ready," Jack coughed, as he gathered up things to pack. He stopped only to hack violently as he choked on the frosted dust which he stirred up, rummaging about in the dresser for socks, pants, shirts, anything that he remembered might be needed for the trip home. "Long underwear, must have that, it's cold out. It's always cold out."

Perhaps there, at Frost Manor, it was. The rest of the world, though, was enjoying yet another unseasonably mild winter.

"Silly boy, always running late… head full of Dream-Sand, maybe?" Jack shook his own head, as he stuffed the outgrown pyjamas into a rucksack.

It was the height of hockey season, after all, and Caleb and Claude would be waiting.

Monty could be late. He could warm the bench, manage equipment, keep stats. Yes, Monty could be late.

But not Jamie.

Never Jamie.

"Going away…" Jack wondered, "Time to go!"

"Jack?" A shy, timid voice then called from the doorway.

"How many _times_ , Jamie?" Jack shook his head, a smile finally crossing his pale, sunken face, "How many times must I tell you that we finish packing the night _before_ , so that we can make our appearance at the skating rink, and that your mother won't..." He then paused, stiffening, putting the rucksack back down where he'd found it.

"Jack? Mr Frost?" That voice asked again, and Jack turned towards the voice in delighted surprise.

There was a young boy standing in the doorway!

Jack blinked, his shoulders slumping in relief, as if some great weight had just fallen from them.

Before him stood a small boy, short and skinny, with brown hair and brown eyes. In fact, he was the spitting image of Jack Frost, Jack remembered, thanks to his restored memories. He was dressed in an indigo hoodie and khaki cargo shorts that came down past his knees. His shiny black leather trainers with bright yellow laces shone (mostly), even in the dull light, and Jack saw the he must have gone outside for some foolish reason that only a young boy could come up with. His hair was wet with snowflakes; his shoes were also spotted with raindrops, even a bit of mud on the soles!

"Mud? Oh tell me you didn't track up the floors _again_?" Jack asked, a sudden and unfamiliar warmth filling him as he began rifling through the frosty, dusty clutter on top of the cedar wood dresser.

"Jack," the boy tried to interrupt again, but this time with a hitch in his voice as he sniffled once. Jack absently tossed him an embroidered silk handkerchief with a blue "J" shining through the frost that flew from it.

The boy caught it.

And used it.

"Jack, you mustn't…" the boy began, but was interrupted as Jack turned, a triumphant smile on his face.

"Mustn't forget your stick! And your sled! Best way to travel, other than flying!" Jack declared proudly, beaming in pride as he held it up.

A bit of rust fell from the sled's bent nose.

"You remember everything I've taught you? The bank shots? The axle jumps? _Skates_ , where are the skates?!" He gasped.

"JACK?" The boy spoke up louder, the silk handkerchief covering most of his face as he wiped at it and sniffled. "PLEASE! You mustn't _do_ this!"

The unexpected smile faded from Jack's face just as quickly as it had come, as the boy came closer, stepping into the light properly.

 _They warned me! Yes, they warned me, but I never imagined it would be this bad!_ The boy thought, _Why don't I ever remember? Why doesn't Dad tell me this stuff? I should have listened to Mannie!_

Jack looked from the boy's equally pained face to the sled, back to the silently crying boy, and then back at the rusty, cracked sled – ruined – in his trembling hand.

The nose bent, the runner rusted and broken.

A board was missing.  
The sled was dead.

Once again, he looked at the boy.

"Jamie," he breathed, shaking his head as he sat down hard on the bed.

The sled fell to the floor, a puff of frosted dust a mute testimony to its lost potential.

The boy took another step forward, into the bedroom proper.

After all, he knew the room. He'd known the way to the room through the maze-like, empty corridors of Frost Manor. He needed no guide. Somehow, he never had, he realized, as it was all coming back to him now. He'd been coming here for years, always on _this_ day. No _other_ Immortal ever came; not anymore.

"Jamie?" Jack implored, holding out his empty arms in desperation.

"No, sir," the boy whispered softly, and Jack looked closer at his sincere face.

This boy did not have the brown, thick hair or well-defined face; one could see his cheekbones. This boy's face wasn't as full, less round, and less colored than he recalled. His messy, damp hair was also a deep, dark brown that was almost black and tinged ever so faintly with auburn highlights if the light hit it just so. His hoodie was the wrong color, too. Too purple. And those long shorts? What fashion statement was that? And across the bridge of his nose, and just a very slight scattering of them that made him so adorable, were…were…

"Freckles?" Jack wondered.

But it was not the freckles that broke Jack Frost out of his reverie.

It was the glasses.

Fashionable, small rectangular frames rode the middle of the bridge of the boy's lightly freckled nose, but just high enough so that his messy dark hair just brushed the glasses if he didn't keep it pushed away.

The glasses brought it all crashing down around Jack again as he stared into those teary eyes that should have been so beautifully brown – like Jack's own had once been – but instead were a shifting mix of gold and green and hazel. And no, the frames weren't red.

Jack broke eye contact with the boy and instead stared down at the intruder's shoes.

Any other time, so long ago (he thought) the Magic that shielded Frost Manor would have gone off, if even a child had dared intrude into the grounds. After all, North had his Workshop and Yetis. Bunny had his Warren and egg statues. Tooth had her Palace and Faeries, etc., etc. Even Pitch Black had his own Lair and Nightmares.

But then Jack remembered.

No, no magical Guardian or Spirit World defenses. Not for this boy.

Not for everyone's much-anticipated.

Not for the boy that everyone loved and celebrated each year.

"Baby New Year," Jack whimpered, turning his head to stare at the ruined sled once again as it all came crashing back to him then.

New Year said nothing at all.

But he did take another unsteady step forward. "Closing out January already," he offered, "Not a baby anymore. Looks like a nearsighted year, and puberty's just around the corner," he sighed, "I'll be old enough to drink by the time the Leprechaun goes to work! Won't be long, and I'll recycle again, start the whole mess over for Dad, I mean, old Father Time."

He regretted his words as soon as he'd said them.

"Shouldn't you be harassing the Groundhog?" Jack managed, wrapping himself in a veneer of cold aloofness and rigid uncaring that was intended to tell the boy that he was neither welcome nor appreciated there. New Year might have been universally loved, but to Jack, he was nothing more than an annual reminder of what Jack had lost.

The only problem was, was that the act didn't work.

It never had.

They confronted one another, young New Year and Jack Frost, across the empty bedroom with only the ice-diamond tears between them.

It had been the glasses that had brought something (something precious) back to Jack Frost - That one fateful day in Burgess, about five years ago, when Jack had met the boy who would become to the first to see him in over three hundred years.

The Last Light.

"Jack?" New Year asked again, offering his hand, which Jack did not accept. " _I_ didn't know him, remember? I'm just a month old!"

Jack Frost only shook his head, then covered his face with his hands. For the longest time, he said nothing at all.

"He was the Last Light, Newbie. That's what we called him, you see, after the battle with Pitch Black," Jack explained, "His name was Jamie Bennett, and he literally saved the world - saved Childhood Itself," Jack choked, as if the words were physically hurting him, "He believed in me! And … and he … loved me."

New Year nodded. "Bunnymund told me some of it."

Jack nodded as well, staring at a small, oblong box on the dresser with a picture of a little boy on the end of it. He honestly didn't know whose teeth it contained, and, he realized, he didn't care.

He already had enough painful memories to last for all Eternity.

"He s-saved us, Newbie," Jack finally managed, his shoulders trembling, "Like I said, he was the Last Light. He resurrected the Sandman. He even turned Pitch's black Nightmare Sand back on him."

Jack paused again, two more crystal tears falling to the floor.

"And he deserved _so_ much more!"


	2. Chapter 2

**"The end is only the beginning of the best friendships."**

 **Frosted Dust**

 **Act II**

The B **eginning of the End**

_**Burgess, late October, after the defeat of Pitch Black**_

"Trust me, guys, you are gonna _love_ this game! Especially you, Tooth!" Jack Frost laughed, as they emerged from a Bunny-tunnel behind the bushes at the Burgess Youth Park.

"Jack, we have work to do," North complained.

"Odd, how this town got such a nice ice rink installed?" Bunnymund observed, giving his former nemesis a nudge in the ribs, "Don't recall seein' it before, Mate?"

"It was a long, dull summer in the southern hemisphere, for _their_ winter," Jack replied, "And for my first Believers, it was the least I could do!" He held out his arms proudly, the ice on the new hockey rink shimmering in the evening light.

"Hate to admit it, Mate, but no one's gonna complain if you wanna come an' cool off the Outback!" Bunnymund offered, "It's been brutal lately!"

" _You_ built an ice rink for the kids?" Tooth asked.

Jack laughed. "Yeah, the Town Council is _still_ wondering where their baseball field went!"

"Jack, I think you spend too much time with this boy," North reminded him, "Is not role of Guardian to play favorite!"

"HOCKEY!" Tooth then screamed, as they rounded a corner. Of course, no adult noticed them, but a few children _did_ give them odd looks, despite their disguises. "I _love_ this sport!" Tooth went on, "Even though it costs me a lot of money!"

A dollar sign popped up over the Sandman's head.

"Relax! It'll be fun!" Jack reminded them, "It's not that close to Christmas, Easter is months away, Baby Tooth and her gang and the Mice can handle the job for one night, and well...some kids can just stay up a bit late tonight?" Jack clapped Sandy on the shoulder, and he nodded back.

"And what about mild winter all over rest of world?" North pressed the issue again, "Every day in Burgess, here, _cannot_ be snow day! And certainly not in _July_!" He muttered a few Russian curses under his breath.

"So I got a little excited?" Jack shrugged. They all glared at him. "OK, OK! _Jamie_ got a little excited! But Miss Summer fixed it. She didn't mind!"

"Not what she told _me_ ," Bunnymund put in, as they found seats. A little girl in a yellow jersey nudged him.

"I don't like coconut candies, you know," she whispered and giggled, tugging at Bunnymund's stocking cap that hid his ears.

"She's a fan of the other team, give her rocks," Jack whispered in Bunnymund's other ear. Bunnymund glared at him.

"Carried away? Wait, you let Jamie play with the _Staff_?" Tooth gasped.

"I wonder why his name pop up on Naughty List!" North snarled, holding up his right arm.

" _Put_ that away!" Jack hissed, "Before someone sees it! It was an accident! He thought he'd polish it for me, and well? Next thing I knew..." Jack shrugged.

"You let Jamie polish your Staff?" Bunnymund gaped at him.

"Jack?" North grumbled.

"You should let 'em detail the sleigh! When was the last time you cleaned that thing, anyway?" Jack smiled.

Just then, the announcer's voice came over the PA system, introducing the teams. As their names were called out, a child would skate out across the ice and stop in the center of the rink. The team in blue, with jerseys emblazoned with a large silver snowflake, came out first.

"The _**Guardians**_?" North wondered, "I like name!"

"You know, Jack, Manny didn't choose you to coach a little league _hockey_ team!" Bunnymund reminded him, "It's October, and the Great Pumpkin won't be pleased."

A pumpkin popped up over Sandy's head in glittering sand.

"He hates it when you call him that," Tooth put in, "Oh, look! They're already missing some front teeth!" She squealed.

"Not to mention how American Turkey is feeling," North laughed.

"Eh, no one cares about the Turkey," Jack shrugged.

Once the teams were introduced, six players on each team took their positions.

"Is that little Monty out there?" Bunnymund wondered, "And I thought rabbits were nervous!"

"Caleb and Claude dragged him into it," Jack said, as the puck was dropped and chaos promptly broke out on the ice. More than once, North had to grab a cheering Jack by the hood and put him back in his seat. Still, the Guardians could see little whirls and whorls of frost chasing across the ice in the wake of the skates of the children in blue jerseys.

"Game is about how good _children_ play – not how good Jack Frost _cheat_!" North gave him a shake.

All around the rink, blue and yellow shirts chased one another. There were collisions, and a few scuffles for the referees to break up. There were cheers as Guardian #5 shot a goal.

"YES! **JAMIE**!" Jack shouted, as Jamie pumped his arm in the air, waving his stick in celebration. "Taught him everything he knows!" Jack crowed in delight, just as the wind picked up a bit. Flakes began to fall, then swirled up into a what looked like a tiny, thin tornado of snow. It danced across the ice, encircled Jamie, then shot up into the sky and vanished.

Everyone slapped Jack on the biceps or shoulders and glared at him.

"Talk about a bloody show pony?" Bunnymund grumbled.

"HEY! That wasn't _me_!" Jack protested, pointing at his Staff, which was sitting on the floor under the seat.

A question mark popped up over Sandy's head.

"North's right, Jack, that was Magic. Are they cheating?" Tooth looked worried, "You think it might have been Miss Autumn? Or Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, or Wanda?"

"Four Winds, who can know? All so flighty!" North shrugged, as the game resumed.

Back and forth the skaters raced, but no goals got past Cupcake, the _**Guardians**_ goalie. A few rounds later, and an unlucky high-sticks call sent Monty to the ice, curled up and writhing in pain as he collided with a boy in yellow. Every male in the crowd groaned sympathetically.

"Sta-ruth!" Bunnymund exclaimed, "The little Wally _does_ have knackers after all! An' here I thought he were _already_ a eunuch boy!"

"Be nice," Tooth grunted, "Ladies present?"

"He seem much better, not so _peba_ , now that Pitch in hiding?" North wondered, as Monty was carried off and replaced by a substitute, "First strings, no?" He wondered.

"The little guy's come a long way," Jack agreed, "He just needed drawn out, is all." He blinked. "What's a peba?"

"Wimp," Bunnymund added.

As the players got ready to resume, the boy in yellow held up his hand. He made a face, then spat out a tooth.

"Left cuspid! I love it!" Tooth squealed again.

"Least he didn't spit out a gool-..." Bunnymund began, but Tooth stepped on his foot.

"Leave him a rock," Jack suggested to Tooth, which got him another arm slap.

Again, the chaos resumed. At that age, many of the boys seemed more interested in hitting each other than they were the puck. Then Jamie got the puck again, and as he saw it coming, did a leaping turn and shot it down the rink for another goal.

"Was that double salchow?" North wondered.

A figure skater image appeared over Sandy's head, and he smirked at Jack, who shrugged in all innocence.

By the end of the game, the _**Guardians**_ had won 10-0. It was opening day of the season, and there was a party in the concessions area to celebrate.

"I think we should go," Bunnymund suggested, "Not all of us blend in so well!" He tapped his foot on the ground, and a hole opened, "Give Jamie and the crew me best?" He smiled, as down he went. The others also took their leave, not wanting to risk further exposure to anyone who might be a Believer.

Jack was just making his way over to Jamie and his friends when he bumped into a woman in a nurse's uniform.

"Pestilence?" Jack gasped, as he didn't pass through her, raising his Staff, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Relax, Jackie!" She assured him, "It's tradition to pass out a few runny noses and sniffles on opening day. That's _all_ , I promise!" She backed up a bit. "I know, I _knooooow,_ everyone's still mad at me for the Black Plague! And call me 'Polly', won't you?"

"Number five is off limits, Polly," Jack nodded.

Polly looked around. Her brows knitted, and she raised an eyebrow. "Jamie Bennett?" She pulled a small notebook from her bag. "Nope, nothing. Not even scheduled for chicken pox. Don't even see his name, really? Healthy boy! I just hate those!" she laughed.

"Just make sure it _stays_ that way, thank you!" Jack smiled, as Polly tapped Claude's nose. He sneezed once and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Hi, Jack!" Jamie said in a small voice, so as not to draw attention, as Jack sat down with them. "Who's your lady friend?"

"Wait, you can _see_ her?" Jack wondered, as Polly paused, just about to poke some other boy in yellow on the nose.

"He can see _me_?" Polly gasped, vanishing in surprise, leaving a puff of smoke that made many of the children sneeze.

"Jamie's been seeing all kinds of...characters?" Pippa nodded, as the snow picked up a bit.

"That was Polly Pestilence, she's just passing out some sniffles," Jack assured them.

"Hope that's all," Monty fretted, still looking a bit green around the gills and walking oddly.

"Told you to wear a cup!" Caleb reminded him, offering Jack hot chocolate.

"Didn't know he even _had_ a pair!" Claude laughed.

"Uh, lady present?" Pippa reminded them.

"Where?" Monty joked, as Cupcake punched his arm.

"OWWW!"

"No! No cocoa!" Jack pulled back, "That stuff'll kill ya! What's a guy gotta do to get ice cream around here?" He smiled. "So, I see no one on the... _**Nuggets**_? Who _named_ that team?"

"Let's not talk about nuggets," Monty groaned.

They all had a laugh about that, and Jack was surprised to find that quite a few children in Burgess could see him. Not only that, they were delighted to see him. It had been a long summer, after all. He promised them a good night for Halloween, and to arrange a White Christmas with 'Santa'. They chatted and ate junk food from the concession stand. By the time the parents were ready to collect their children, the snow was really coming down.

"Strange," Jack wondered, studying his Staff, "That's not me. Must be Mother Nature Herself? Then again, could be Autumn hanging out with Wendy. She fills in for me sometimes."

"We were all hoping for snow!" Cupcake smiled, her past sour demeanor now replaced (thanks in part to Jack) with a much better one.

"Yeah, we missed you all summer!" Claude added.

"Who you talkin' to, boys? You see Cupcake every day?" The Twins' mother asked, as she came to collect them.

"Jack Frost!" They both smiled at her, showing off a few missing teeth.

"Funny! C'mon, I hate driving in this stuff," she complained.

As the children all said their goodbyes, Jamie lingered a bit with Jack while their mother took Sophie to the ladies' room. Jack was looking around, wondering at the snow that he hadn't created, when a snowball hit him on the back of the head!

"Hey, wait! This is powdery? You know, the skiing stuff?" Jack wondered, staring in shock at a smiling Jamie, who was just cutting his two front adult teeth. He was just the right age for most of them to have already fallen out, or get lost on the hockey rink.

"I know!" Jamie crowed in delight, "Isn't it great?" He held up his hand.

A snowball formed from the glittering mini-tornado of snow that seemed to spin up out of his bare palm.

"OK, Toothless?" Jack gasped, then smirked at the nickname, "Did you do...?" He then spun up a small snow tornado, just like the one that had crossed the rink when Jamie had scored.

Jamie nodded proudly. "I think it was all that coaching you did when the rink first opened! I dunno, it just happened!"

"This is _not_ normal!" Jack wondered, "And it's only been a few weeks of practice? I mean, I was gone all summer long, after Easter? Remember? We've not been training that long?"

"Yeah, three hundred years, and you _still_ don't know what the post office is?" Jamie gave him a sad face, "We missed you, Jack!"

"I think you'll be seeing a lot of me this winter, Kiddo," Jack tussled the boy's hair, which frosted over, "I think I might be rubbing off on you?" He thought about it. He handed Jamie the Staff. It frosted and crackled as Jamie handed it back. Jack studied it, and the boy.

"Like that's a bad thing?" Jamie laughed, as his mother came to collect him. The boy turned and waved goodbye one more time, as Sophie chattered, "Jack Frost! Jack Frost!" all the way to the car.

"And just remember," Jack called after them, " _This_ is NOT a hockey stick!" He held up his Staff, "But it'd make a darn good one?" He told himself.

 _ **Frost Manor, Present Day**_

"So that was the first clue?" young New Year asked, as snow began to gently fall from the ceiling.

Jack Frost nodded, bowing his head again and covering his face with his hands.

"When I think back, the signs were all there, Newbie," Jack said, his voice quavering, "That night he first believed, and we took him, to get him away from Pitch, I noticed things. Well, I _did_ , but I didn't have time to really think about it, you know? There was a battle going on, after all, and Pitch wanted to hurt him."

"Go on?" Newbie wondered.

Jack coughed. "It's not easy," he managed, "Y-you looking like..."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I age about ten human years per month," Newbie nodded, "Mom – Mother Nature, you know – wanted me to come. Her and The Winds are getting kinda ticked off, picking up your slack, Jack. They're seriously thinking about calling in The Snowman. I mean, I wanted to come, though? You're _Jack-flippin'-Frost_ , after all! How cool is that?" New Year joked, but Jack didn't even smile.

"Sorry to disappoint," Jack sighed, waving his arms about, "Welcome to Frost Manor! Or what's left of it."

"This was _his_ room?" Newbie wondered, looking around. In addition to some sports trophies and the scattered clothing, there were also unopened Christmas gifts and Easter baskets, their uneaten contents unable to rot in the cold.

Jack only nodded as the snow fell gently from the ceiling. "The hour he first believed," Jack then sighed, as if sarcastically referencing the religious hymn, "I made it snow in his room, at his house. He was about to stop believing, Newbie, and if he had, none of us would be here now. Not that there's any point to being here, though?"

"But you saved his _belief_!" Newbie pointed out, "Dad, I mean – Father Time - told me all about it! You animated a snow-rabbit for him, to make him believe in Bunnymund again? How cool was _that?_ " New Year smiled, perhaps hoping that Jack would demonstrate.

Jack only sighed. "I can't do it anymore, sorry. This is all I can manage," Jack gestured at the ceiling, "And what's outside. Tell Mom I'm sorry about the forest. I just... just..." He sniffled and looked away. "They warned me. They _warned_ me, Newbie, and I ignored them! Happy-go-lucky Jack Frost! _That's_ me! Have fun, because it's my Center, you know! So I had fun! I had fun with the kids! Wasn't that what I was _supposed_ to do?"

"You put too much into _one_ kid?"

"Yeah," Jack sighed again.

"It's all about the kids, yes?" New Year wondered. "You said there were signs that something was wrong? Something odd about... _him_?" He decided to not speak the boy's name.

Jack nodded again, staring out the window at the dead tree limbs. The wind made a shutter bang against the frozen pane, but he ignored it.

"That night, with Pitch and his Nightmares chasing us, I'd...we'd taken Ja-... _him_ , to protect him. He only had his pyjamas on, and he was barefoot," Jack glanced down at his own bare feet. He suddenly remembered the last time he'd worn shoes himself.

 _ **Burgess, formerly Hawthorne, just over 300 years prior**_

"Wait for me!" Jack called to his little sister, pulling off his shoes and checking the blades of his ice skates.

"You're so slow, Jack!" She laughed, carefully keeping her balance on her own unsteady skates, just near the bank. Jack shivered, but he wanted to check the ice. Near the center, he imagined, it would be thinner where the water was deeper. And the pond was very deep, he knew. Even in summer, the depths were cool and could make you cramp up in a second, if you sank too deeply.

"Not so far, not yet!" Jack called, venturing after her, out on the ice, and using his staff to steady himself. "Wow! This is cold!" He gasped, his bare feet going numb almost at once, as she laughed at him and his skates that were tied together and hanging around his neck. He imagined it must be an amusing sight, a gangling boy like himself, trying to walk barefoot on the ice. He laughed too.

Then the ice cracked.

On the bank, his shoes sat, forgotten.

 _ **Burgess, First Winter after the Battle**_

"Jamie, whatever you do, DO NOT do that in front of anyone else!" Jack Frost warned the boy, who was standing there with a conjured snowball in his bare hand.

"But Jack, how can I _be_ doing it?" Jamie wondered, "And are you really buying a house here?" The boy's mind then changed tracks, and the snowball vanished.

"Not so much buying, as squatting," Jack smiled. He couldn't help but smile when he thought of having his own hideout – something that he'd once derided the others for. "With a little help from Father Time, and some creative work by the Forest Spirits, we'll have that old manor house up the hill all fixed up, but hidden from Non-Believers!" Jack explained, as he was examining Jamie's hand – and finding nothing amiss but a hangnail.

"The one by the pond?" Jamie gasped, "You're going to live _there_?"

Jack smiled again, nodding. He hadn't told Jamie the story – the story of how surprised he'd been to find a deserted old ruin of a house on the very spot where his own childhood home had once stood. No, Jack thought, he'd never tell Jamie the full, grisly story. Why ruin it for the children? After all, the ice on _that_ pond would certainly never crack again. _Ever_.

No child would ever drown in that pond again.

" _That_ house, yes, and you get to pick your own room," Jack added happily, "Just in case you might want to...camp out? You could tell your mom that? You know, with as much as I'm gone, I'll need someone to look after the place?" He smiled.

Jamie almost had a seizure over the news, as Jack tried to calm him down, explaining how Magical Guardian Hideouts were hidden, and how they worked.

"So, Father Time makes the house new again, with magic?" Jamie gasped, "And Believers can see it?"

Jack nodded. "Actually, he messes with physics, or something. And you'll have someplace to practice hockey _all_ year long!"

And practice they did. During that first season, the Burgess Pee Wee League _**Guardians**_ took first place – undefeated. What was more unusual was that with the exception of the Twins, all of them were rookies. Jack Frost, of course, never missed a game or a practice. The other Guardians came when they could, and Tooth (of course) was ecstatic with all the knocked-out teeth. The people of Burgess were perplexed at the seemingly imaginary coach, to whom the children seemed to be listening when their real coach wasn't there.

Winters didn't last all year, though. There was football (soccer) and baseball in the summertime, though, and Jack always returned home whenever he could manage. True to his word, the lake never thawed. Even in July, many of the children of Burgess (those who believed) could be found skating there. The children christened the hidden old house _**Frost Manor**_ , and never missed a chance to hang out.

But just like winter, childhood didn't last. Some children came and went, never finding their way back to the Manor as they grew older and stopped believing. Still, the core members of the _**Guardians**_ hockey team kept the faith.

It was during their their second hockey season, after a mild autumn that had seemed to want to linger and not give way to Jack Frost, that Jack noticed that something was _definitely_ wrong with his little friend. Conjuring snowballs, he could overlook. Just about all the kids could do that, when he was around.

Jamie, though, was different.

Jack had just returned from a stint in South America and given a proper chill to the late autumn air when he stopped by the Manor to check on things. Of course he knew that the children and the magic would maintain the house, but it was still good to go home; even for an Immortal. And of course, the children were out on the ever-frozen pond when he arrived.

"Jamie, you'll get pneumonia!" Pippa was chiding him.

"Jack's been doing it for three hundred years! It's fun!" Jamie protested, and it took Jack a moment to register just what he was seeing: Jamie was out on the ice, barefoot!

"Man, you crazy!" Claude put in.

"Uhm, Jack's an Immortal?" Cupcake reminded them, " _You're_ not!"

"You'll get frostbite!" Monty worried.

"In case you forgot, we didn't get sick that night we were fighting Pitch Black last year?" Jamie reminded them, "We were out for hours in the cold, and I didn't even have slippers on!"

"He got a point?" Caleb told his brother, shrugging.

"C'mon, shoot me the puck!" Jamie insisted, just as he took off across the ice. Jack blinked. They'd had several talks about some of the strange things that had happened with Jamie over the last year: snowballs, snow tornadoes, drinks freezing in his hands, and dressing for winter. Ever since the small snow tornado at the grand opening game of the new hockey rink, Jack had kept a close eye on the boy. That, or he'd had someone else do it for him. Phil the Yeti had been more than happy to help, in making sure that Jamie hadn't had any strange outbursts – especially not in the middle of the summer.

But as the barefoot boy took off across the ice, leaving a vapor trail of frost in his wake, Jack's jaw dropped. He clutched his Staff, listening to the familiar sounds of cracks and pops of ice forming in a rapidly dropping temperature. Jamie shot the puck back at Cupcake, and an explosion of snow accompanied the flying iced puck as it tore clean through the goal net.

"SCORE!" Jamie shouted.

"STOP!" Jack shouted back, as everyone just stared at them. "What do you call _that_?" He demanded of the startled boy.

"Frost-puck!" Jamie smiled at him with uneven teeth.

"And how does one shoot a 'frost puck'?" Jack asked.

So Jamie showed him. "It's all in the wrist!" He waved his hockey stick, which left a small wake of steam in the air.

He handed Jack his stick, taking the Staff from him. Jack was just about to shoot the puck when he realized what he'd done. He grabbed the Staff back.

It was cold.

Even to his own touch.

"What have we said about playing with the Staff?" Jack reminded him gently, never quite able to bring himself to scold any of the children.

"'It's not a toy, it's a very dangerous weapon'," Jamie recited with a huff.

"Aren't your feet cold?" Jack asked him.

"No?" Jamie shrugged, "Are yours?" He then laughed, and for just a second, Jack could've sworn that the boy's eyes sparkled blue. He looked again. No, Jamie's eyes were brown. "C'mon, Jack!" He then exclaimed, "We've waited all summer for this! We gotta get in shape for the season!"

 _ **North Pole, Present Day**_

"Any word?" Bunnymund asked, as the Original Four gathered. Overhead, the colors of the auroras still danced in the sky, summoning the others.

"Young New Year is visiting him," North nodded.

"You sure tha's such a good idea, Mate? Sending what looks like a ten-years-old boy to talk to Jack? Crikey, North! A young boy is _why_ he's such a mess!"

"We have all tried, old friend," North sighed, taking a plate of cookies from a passing Elf. "I was pleased to see you spent so much time with him?"

Bunnymund nodded, accepting a vegetable tray from Phil the Yeti. "He needed someone, bad, them first couple years," Bunnymund said, "I was glad to do it." His nose twitched harder than usual, and he looked away from North's penetrating stare. "Damn! What I wouldn't give to see an Easter wrecked like '68 again!" He smacked his hand on the table, as a stream of shimmering gold dust came down from the ceiling.

The dust coalesced into The Sandman, and a question mark appeared over his head.

"Sandy, old man! Just talkin' 'bout Jack, we were," Bunnymund greeted him. Three letter Z's flashed over Sandy's head, then a snowflake. Sandy shook his head. "I know, he's not sleeping anymore. Mum said he'd lost weight, a real mess, when she checked in on him last."

"Not nice to call Mother Nature 'Mum'," North warned him.

The room then filled with moonlight, as Tooth came fluttering in and the silent Manny joined them in Spirit. For a long while, they all sat staring at the flickering lights of the globe. All of them were looking at the near eastern edge of North America, United States, though – and the one noticeably absent light.

What had once been the Last Light.

"Even Manny has tried," North mused.

"And failed," Bunnymund muttered, as a crescent moon flashed over Sandy's head and vanished. He sighed.

"I hear even _Pitch_ went to see him?" North asked.

"Yeah, an' it were so bad, even the Boogeyman couldn't tolerate it," Bunnymund nodded.

"It's so sad," Tooth shook her head. "I should never have..."

"You thought it would help," North patted her hand, offering hot chocolate.

"Only me or the girls are supposed to activate the boxes," Tooth shook her head, hiding her face in her hands, "I thought that if Jack had access to...if he knew what Jam-..."

"We all knew what he... _the boy._..felt," Bunnymund cut her off, "If you _hadn't_ given Jack the box, he might well have blinked out of existence!"

Images of children flashed over Sandy's head.

"He's right, lots of other kids still believe," Bunnymund offered, "It wasn't just... _him._ "

"Why we dance around name?" North demanded, holding up his right arm, "His name was JAMIE! And he was naughty, _some_ times!" He then laughed, which got their attention, inappropriate as it was, "And he was Last Light! He save us ALL! Such a child, I think, this world _never_ sees again!" North's voice boomed, as the moon moved just so, flooding the globe with light as the floor shook.

Then the circular floor tiles marked "G" separated, and a huge, clear crystal rose from the hidden compartment below the five-pointed star pattern. The moonlight struck it, and a hologram in shades of cold blue and cyan formed up: a boy in a hoodie, with his hood up. He was holding a short staff.

"Manny?" Bunnymund said, "We _know_! Jack's the _reason_ we're meeting here. But he's _already_ a Guardian, mate?"

"Yes! Is just...on sick leave?" North offered, "We get him back to work, _soon_!"

Tooth then gasped. Sandy's eyes were wide, unusual for him. A question mark hovered over his head. Then it changed to an exclamation point.

Phil came in with more refreshments, saw the hologram, dropped his silver platter, then fainted.

"Is that...what I think it is?" Bunnymund gasped.

"Look at the stick!" Tooth wondered.

"Da! But _that_ is _not_ Jack!" North exclaimed, sitting down hard on the dais of the globe and leaning back on it in shock, staring at his right forearm. "Is NOT possible!"

"Is...is Jack being fired?" Tooth wondered, "Replaced?"

"Can Guardians get even _get_ sacked?" Bunnymund asked.

"We are about to find out," North mused.


	3. Chapter 3

**"The end is only the beginning of the best friendships."**

 **Frosted Dust**

 **Act III**

The End of the Beginning

 _ **Frost Manor, Present Day**_

"Jack," New Year wondered, looking around the room again, "Just how did Jamie come to have his own room here?"

"His mom had a few family things, some business trips for a new job, no dad you know. Then she hurt her back, had to have surgery. Sophie went to her Aunt's, and Jamie came here." Jack raised an eyebrow. "OK, OK! I cheated! She thought he was staying with Monty's family!"

They sat in silence for a little while, listening to the wind. The decaying house creaked as snow piled up on the windowsill.

"It's all falling apart," Jack sighed, "Three hundred years of being alone, in exchange for five good ones? I think I got cheated, Newbie!"

New Year said nothing at all.

"It happened on this date, you know," Jack went on, "That why you came?"

Newbie nodded at him.

"I know," Jack pulled a face, "Five years of weak winters for most of the world, none last year to speak of, and now..."

"Lingering autumn?" Newbie grinned.

"I just can't do it anymore," Jack said, his voice full of hurt, "Every time I pick up the Staff, I just... _feel_ him, you know?"

"You put too much of yourself into him?" Newbie wondered.

Again, Jack nodded. "And the others. Maybe if they'd stop believing in me, I could just... fade away?" Jack wondered. He glanced at the Staff. "Isn't it about time for you to go? No pun intended, Newbie, but you've only got about eleven months to do your thing?"

New Year didn't take the hint.

"Jack, how'd it happen?" Newbie finally asked, and Jack went stiff. For the longest time, he didn't reply or even look at the boy. "Jack?" He repeated, realizing that he'd said the wrong thing.

"I _don't_ want to talk about it!" Jack snapped, as one of the window panes burst, letting in an icy blast. "I've been trying to tell you all for the last year that I _don't_ _ **want**_ to talk about it!"

"Jack, I didn't..."

"LEAVE!" Jack jumped up, pointing his Staff at the door, "Leave, before I do or say something we'll _both_ regret!" He turned away. "I...I can't hurt ...another child," he then choked.

"You didn't _hurt_ him, Jack," Newbie said softly, moving towards the door, and glancing at the dresser. In the small space between its side and wall stood a small hockey stick, and other gear. "You loved him?"

"Give my best to the Groundhog and the Leprechaun, and punch Cupid in the mouth for me," Jack muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He turned to face his unwanted guest, took a step, then cried out, tripping over a box wrapped in blue and white paper, patterned in snowflakes. "OWWW!" Jack bent and grabbed his stubbed toe, swatting the box with his Staff. The box froze and broke open to reveal a black, plush, toy dragon with green eyes, no teeth, and one red tail fin.

"Goodbye then, Jack," New Year whispered, turning to go, as Jack picked up the toy and clutched it to his chest.

Jack Frost drew in a great breath, and sobbed. He sank back onto the bed, but this time, no crystal tears came. It was as if they'd all finally turned to dust, frozen dust, and dried up forever.

Then Jack looked up, taking in the contents of the room one last time.

New Year paused in the doorway. "So what are you gonna do, Jack? Sit in this room for all Eternity and mourn?"

"Jamie Bennett, the Last Light, the boy who saved Childhood," Jack stated flatly, his voice steady again, "Is dead. He's _dead_ , because _**I**_ killed him!"

 _ **Burgess Youth Park, Five Years after the Battle with Pitch**_

"You, Mate, are a bad influence!" Bunnymund told Jack, as the _**Guardians**_ hockey team celebrated yet another win. It had been a close one, though, as most of the children in the league believed in Jack, and he'd ended up coaching all of the teams to make it fair.

The excited children were headed for the concessions stand, as usual, but this time, the Guardians joined their namesakes.

"No more outbursts?" North asked, "I see these things, you know?" He tapped his right forearm, "You and boy are very naughty!"

Above Sandy's head, an image of Jack's Staff appeared.

Jack shrugged. "I've been coaching him for five years, guys! Yeah, he slips up now and again, but he's gotten good at hiding it."

"Jaaaaack?" North pressed him. "Remember to who you talk here! See you when sleeping?"

"All right! Fine! You caught him! So what?" Jack shrugged, "He plays with the Staff sometimes? It's _fun_!"

" _This_ is why we can't have favorites, Jack," Tooth reminded him, "Well, in my case, they'd run out of teeth, but you know what I mean!"

"First Believer in you, yes!" North agreed, "Very important! However, you make him perfect target, if enemies find out! They come at him to get to you. If anything happen to Jamie, with all you invest in him, you take heavy damage, Jack. Guardians cannot have children, you know. We protect _all_ children!"

"Yeah? Well that's just something _else_ I didn't get to do, isn't it?" Jack replied, in sudden, uncharacteristic heat, "Have a child of my own? Or even grow up? Fall in love? Have a family? I didn't even get to have a _memory_ until Baby Tooth got me my baby teeth!" Jack went on. Luckily, no one could see them, and the children were out of earshot.  
"No, I _died_ when I was just eighteen! I was just a kid, and I died! Then the Man in the Moon resurrects me, gives me all these powers, then doesn't _speak_ to me for three hundred years?" Jack ranted, as the other three just stared at him in shock. "Three hundred years, and even you guys didn't take me seriously? So don't _you_ go telling _me_ what to do!" He glared hard at Bunnymund, "Jamie's got no dad, and in case you can't see it, his mom's more concerned with Sophie and her job. Sure, he's got friends, but he needs more! Jamie NEEDS!" Jack tried to explain, "It's _not_ the same thing!"

"You sure you're not projecting _your_ needs onto _him_?" Bunnymund dared ask.

"So what if I am?" Jack countered.

"Jack," North cut in, "I see children all over world..."

" _Once_ a year," Jack cut him off, "You told me five years ago, that you were all so busy protecting the children, that you didn't have time _for_ children! How asinine is _that_?!"

North nodded. "I see terrible things, which is why so important that I bring hope. But children who don't have it so good, don't live at Pole with me!"

"Yes, what's going on with Jamie living in your house, Jack?" Tooth asked.

An image of a house formed up over Sandy's head, and he looked puzzled at Jack.

"Well, maybe you should _adopt_ some!" Jack retorted, "Mrs Bennett has had back problems, some trips to make with that new job, and Jamie needed a place to stay. He needed _someone_ to look after him these last few years."

"That explains those mild winters," Bunnymund nodded. Then his ears shot up and his whiskers jerked. "You took him to _work_ with you?! I thought that last winter storm looked like a kid put it together!"

"Look, it's not as bad as that. We're just having fun," Jack explained, "Eventually, he'll grow up. He'll be a man someday, and he'll forget about us. He'll stop believing, just like the rest of them do, and move on. And so will I."

" _Will_ you?" Tooth wondered, as Sandy just shook his head.

"Jack?" Jamie interrupted, walking up to them with a bottle of clear soda in hand, "What are you guys arguing about?"

Sandy looked up and twiddled his thumbs. The rest of them just grinned weakly at the boy. Jamie made a puzzled face back.

"Too much figure skating?" Jamie wondered.

"Bloody show pony," Bunnymund grumbled, but he did tussle the boy's hair, "You're hangin' around this bloke too much!" He nudged Jack.

"That soda is horrible for your teeth!" Tooth warned him, grabbing his jaw and peering into the boy's mouth. She did not look pleased. Then she looked again. "Are you feeling OK, Jamie?"

"Just tired is all, and kinda hot," Jamie confessed, "My side hurts, some. Think I pulled something on that jump I did."

"Jumping over two crashed players will do that," Jack reminded him.

"Lucky he not _fly_ over them," North muttered.

Just then, Jamie's soda froze and split the bottle. "Jack, it's hot out here! Do something about it, can you? Please?" The boy begged.

An image of a thermometer flashed over Sandy's head.

"You're right, this kid needs to be home in bed," Bunnymund agreed, feeling Jamie's forehead, "He's runnin' a fever."

Jamie blushed a bit and shuffled his feet. "Yeah, I, uhm, puked earlier," he confessed.

"Gross!" Tooth gasped.

"Nothin' like a good chunder!" Bunnymund grinned, "It's a sporting event down under, ya know!"

"I will hunt her down and kick her a-..." Jack began, but Tooth kicked his shin.

"Who?" North wondered.

"Polly!" Jack snapped.

"Pestilence?" Bunnymund wondered, "Jack, _all_ kids get sick. They're _mortal_. That's what they do, Mate?"

"That, or he eat chili dog?" Nick wondered, pointing at the concession stand, "Those kill more men than Nazi march on Russia in Big War!" He joked.

"You going home with me?" Jack asked Jamie.

"Nah, Mom'll miss me tonight, even if she is busy with work stuff," Jamie replied. As with any sick boy who wouldn't admit to it, he really wanted his mother. Jack sighed.

"Keep him cool, yes," North had to agree. He pulled a Snowglobe and grabbed Jamie's gear bag. They then bid goodnight to Monty, Pippa, and all the others, then went behind the concession stand. "Bennett house!" North said, activating the globe, as he slid through with the boy and bag.

"Hey! _I'm_ his Guardian!" Jack protested.

"No, his _mother_ is. You are ' _A'_ Guardian," Bunnymund corrected him, "Sandy, you go and make sure Jamie sleeps, would ya, Mate? And his little sister, too? Boy's in no shape to watch her."

Sandy nodded, saluted, and took off.

"Don't you have a blizzard scheduled for the east coast?" Tooth reminded Jack, "You were talking about that at halftime?"

"Yeah," Jack groaned, "The water table is low, and so is the snowpack in the hills. Gotta get it built back up. Should probably get to it, as soon as Wendy gets that Polar Vortex down here. I just love those!" Jack seemed to cheer right up.

"Go and tuck him in, if it'll make you feel better," Tooth advised, kissing his cheek, "And make him brush!" She then fluttered off.

And so Jack did that. Bunnymund went along, as he had nothing better to do. They found Jamie soulfully chundering, as Bunnymund called it, in the bathtub.

"Bigger target, harder to miss," Jack shrugged, helping Jamie into his pyjamas and then tucking him in. "Won't be long, you'll be too big for this," Jack sighed, waving his Staff, as the windows fogged and the room cooled.

Jamie snuggled down in bed, and a coil of golden sand came looping in through the window to tickle his ear. "G'night, Jack, Bunny," Jamie mumbled, yawning and curling up, "I love you."

"You just stay in bed, Kiddo!" Jack told him, "I've got a huge blizzard coming, so you make sure that your mom stays _off_ the roads, and in the house! I'm thinking a week of snow days!"

Jack then kissed the boy's cheek, but jerked back, hands over his mouth. "He's burning up!" He exclaimed.

"That's what sick kids do, and he's got a mum," Bunnymund reminded him.

He and Bunnymund then exited the room through a tunnel. "Bunny, are you all teary-eyed?" Jack joked.

"Got a wild hair in me eye, is all," Bunnymund replied, "Now, go earn your bloody paycheck, what?" He turned to scamper down another tunnel as Jack laughed and took to the sky.

"SNOW DAYS!" The Winter Spirit shouted, raising his Staff as the clouds gathered, the wind began to blow, and snow began to fall at an alarming rate.

" **The National Weather Service has issued a blizzard warning for the following counties in the following states** ," the radios and televisions all over the area blared, "... **high winds and heavy snowfall of at** _ **least**_ **eighteen inches will make driving nearly impossible. It is advised that all travelers seek shelter...stay off the roads...if you** _ **must**_ **travel..."**

"A bit of this, a little of that," Jack Frost was gleefully talking to himself, using his Staff to craft the storm. On radar screens all over the area, a mass of pink and blue with green fringes took shape, looking somewhat like a hurricane over land.

"Sinusitis!" A lady's voice called out, "Sniffles! Head colds!" Polly Pestilence was equally happy.

"Stay out of Burgess! I can't have sick players!" Jack called back.

"As if I don't have _enough_ to do!" Polly replied, "You're killing me here, Jack!"

"Earn that paycheck, as Bunny says!" Jack laughed, as he continued to amplify the wind. "Why does the song say I nip at your nose?" Jack then wondered, "That's your job, Polly!" They both laughed as the blizzard continued to build.

Then Jack saw him: the tall man in a black, tattered cloak. His hood was up, his face hidden, and he carried a wicked, antique grain scythe.

"Oh, no, Grim! Not now!" Jack begged. "They'll blame me!"

The Grim Reaper held up a scroll, seemingly impervious to the wind. "I don't make the list, Jack – I just do the deliveries," he explained, "It all fits together. People get sick, that's Polly's job. Some of them die, or die in accidents – and that's my job. I may not like it, but I do it! Not all of us are lucky enough to have a fun job. Besides, if it wasn't for me, there'd be more people than the Earth could support. It all serves the natural cycle, Jack. Part of the plan."

Below them, hardly visible through the storm, cars and trucks began sliding off the road. Those with more sense pulled over and stopped.

"Gotta go!" The Grim Reaper dived, vanishing.

Jack looked around, but both the Reaper and Pestilence were gone.

"Yeah, but _I_ still get blamed for it!" He called after them, "I wish those two would take a vacation, or even a sick day off!"

And so Jack Frost worked late into the night. He tried not to think about things like car crashes, failed furnaces, and such. He even got creative with the wind and sent errant blasts down the highways in front of the snow plows to help them out. By morning, there was a good twelve inches of snow, and the blizzard wasn't showing any signs of letting up.

From high overhead, a noctilucent cloud flashed, and a Sprite descended, handing Jack a small scroll. He read it and scowled. " _Two or more_ feet by evening? Awww, c'mon, Mom?" He yelled at the starry sky high above the storm, "I won't even get _lunch_!"

"Jack," A woman's voice chided him, coming from everywhere, and seemingly nowhere all at once.

"I know, it's not nice to fool Mother Nature," Jack huffed, as he set in to prodding the storm some more.

Jack was just finishing up with getting the blizzard moving (it took all day) on its intended course to head over and on up the coast when he paused, cocking his head.

"Jack?" A tiny voice was calling.

Familiar...yes, the trick that Pitch had played on him some years before!

"Jack?" It called again.

"Jamie?" He then recognized the voice and paused.

There was a decision to be made: the storm or Jamie. And yes, Pitch _had_ tricked him like this before? He'd fallen for it that time, and in doing so, had ruined Easter. Jack Frost listened harder, tuning out the wind. Pitch hadn't been heard from in years. And he surely wasn't stupid enough to try that trick again, was he?

"JACK!" The scream then reverberated painfully through his head. No, this was real – this he knew. He knew it in an instant as he rose above the clouds and faced the Man in the Moon.

Jamie or the job?

He made his decision in an instant.

"JAMIE!" Jack gasped, as he turned his Staff and dove.

 _ **Bennett Home, Same Time**_

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" The operator's voice asked.

"I need an ambulance," Mrs Bennett shouted, "My son! I think it's his appendix!" She'd been dialing frantically for nearly an hour, but the emergency switchboard was flooded with calls due to the blizzard.

"How long has he been showing symptoms?" The operator asked.

"Since before the hockey game yesterday," Mrs Bennett answered, dreading what the operator was going to say.

"We'll try. You're at..."

Looking out the window, and given the operator's tone of voice, Mrs Bennett realized that Jamie might have just been handed a death sentence. She couldn't see past the porch, and the car was buried in snow.

There was no way an ambulance was getting through the whiteout.

"MOM!" Jamie was crying, writhing on his bed and covered in sweat.

"There's got to be a way!" She said, wrapping the boy in a blanket and trying to get him up. Jamie screamed as she bumped his side. "Somebody, help!" She cried in desperation.

"Mom," Jamie gasped, "You gotta believe! You gotta trust me, OK?" He panted.

"Trust you for what? Jamie, why didn't you _say_ something earlier, if you were this sick?"

"You were busy," Jamie mumbled. He then looked at the window, but all he could see was snow piling up at the edge of the darkness.

"JACK!" He then screamed, wincing in pain.

"Who's Jack?" His mother demanded.

"A way through the storm, Mom. Trust me. Jack Frost," he finally added.

"Jack Frost? He's a fairy tale? You're too old to believe in these things!" Mrs Bennett replied, still trying to get him up and moving, thinking him delirious from fever, "We'll make it, Jamie. I'll just have to drive slowly, and..."

The bedroom window then burst open, letting in an icy blast and a cloud of snow. Given the strength of the winter storm, there was no stopping it. It would now just have to blow itself out, but that presented no problem for Jack. Mrs Bennett gasped as her son was torn from her arms and seemed to hover in the air.

"Jamie?" Jack's voice cracked, "What's wrong?"

"H-hospital," Jamie just managed, as his mother screamed.

"Uh-oh," Jack groaned, pointing his Staff at Jamie's mirror. The word BELIEVE formed up in icy letters. Jamie then grabbed hold of the Staff. Jack could feel the heat coming off of the boy.

Again, Mrs Bennett screamed as the G-shaped shepherd's staff materialized out of thin air in her son's hand. The room was freezing.

"BELIEVE!" Jack shouted at her, his hand closing around her wrist as she shivered.

"Jack Frost?" She breathed, turning from the mirror.

And then he was there: a young man who looked like the picture that Jamie had drawn some years ago and hung on the refrigerator door.

"Trust me, Ma'am!" Jack told her, "And hold on!"

"But Sophie?" She protested.

"Will sleep through the night, I promise!" Jack told her. "SANDY!" He shouted into the wind. "Sandman," he told her, "Trust me? We need to go!"

She nodded.

And then they were flying, bursting through the window and into the stormy night.

"I...I almost expect to see reindeer," Mrs Bennett declared in shock. "Jack Frost?!"

"There's six, not eight. Moore was drunk when he wrote that story. Rudolph's a myth, too," Jack told her, "And the Yetis make the toys," he went on, trying to keep her distracted until they could reach the hospital. _C'mon_ , Jack thought hard, _Faster_!

The hospital was chaos when they arrived, though. Jack handed Jamie off to her, and took in the scene: too many people to count filled the waiting area, as did policemen and firefighters and EMT's. _The highway pileup_! Jack thought, as Mrs Bennett tried to get someone's attention.

Jack then raised his hand, formed up a snowball, and pelted a doctor with it – right in the face!

"C-can I help you?" He smiled at them, not seeing Jack, as the magic did its thing.

"My son! He's sick!" Mrs Bennett explained, "I think it's his..." she pulled his shirt up and paused, and Jamie screamed as the doctor touched him.

"Appendix!" The man gasped, "I need an OR, STAT!" He began shouting orders, "Burst, if not – then it's about to!"

Jack sighed and leaned hard against the wall. There was nothing more that he could do as Jamie was carried away. And since he was so unaccustomed to it, he jumped and yelped when Mrs Bennett touched his arm.

"Oh, boy! I'm in trouble now," Jack groaned.

"For saving a life?" Mrs Bennett wondered. Then she paused. "You're real! _You_ did this?" She pointed at the windows.

"It's my job," he nodded, "Mother Nature's orders."

"M-mother...?" She began, "And the S-sandman, and..."

"All real," Jack interrupted, "Let's just hope they don't find out. Walk with me," he then said, "They'll think you're talking to yourself. Only children who believe can see me." He faced her, his own face hard as they found an empty waiting room. "Mrs Bennett, I'm a Guardian. It's our job to watch over the children."

"I must be going insane!" She then cried, collapsing into a chair. "Sophie!"

"Is with the Sandman. And this is why we don't show ourselves to adults," Jack muttered, now that he knew how to do it.

"I told him, years ago, that you were no one," Mrs Bennett said softly, "Just an expression. But he was obsessed with all these things, like Bigfoot and..."

Jack exhaled, hard. The room chilled. She jerked her head around to face him again. "Mrs Bennett, you should know that that was the year that Jamie literally saved the children of the world from the...uhhh," he paused.

"Oh just _tell_ me! Let's go all-the-way-crazy, why don't we?" She laughed.

"Oh, boy," Jack groaned, "OK, then. Jamie saved the world from the Boogeyman." She blinked at him. "The year without an Easter, remember?"

"How could _you_ know that the kids didn't get any..." It was her turn to pause.

"Because Pitch, Pitch Black – the Boogeyman, that is – tricked me. I went chasing him while his Nightmares destroyed Bunny's delivery. He'd already ruined a night for the Tooth Fairy, and we thought he'd killed the Sandman. North, Santa – I mean – almost didn't make it here. You see, Ma'am, when kids stop believing in us, we slowly cease to exist. That was what Pitch wanted, so he could take over and rule the world through fear."

"But how did Jamie...?"

Jack then explained the globe that tracked the children who believed. "Jamie was the last light left. I sort of...intervened," Jack confessed, "He didn't believe in me then, so I made him believe in the Easter Bunny again." He then held out his hand, and spun up a small frosty rabbit that hopped around the room and exploded into snow. "Believe what you will, Ma'am, but you're here – and you didn't drive."

"No one could drive in this weather! How could you..." She then began to rant, anger, fear, and frustration suddenly exploding. Jack just stood there and endured it.

It wasn't the first time, after all.

 _Yeah, blame it all on me..._ he thought.

Finally, Mrs Bennett collapsed into the chair again, exhausted. Luckily, no one had heard her. Jack simply slipped quietly from the waiting room, leaving her to wonder. Perhaps, he thought, she'd just chalk it up to stress and panic?

"So my kid says that Jack Frost is coaching their hockey team!" Some EMT was saying, but Jack just walked past him. He was, after all, accustomed to not being seen. He roamed the corridors for hours, finally stopping in the Children's Ward to watch the tendrils and shapes of golden Dream Sand drifting about the room. He wished he'd been able to tell Mrs Bennett about how Jamie had really overcome Pitch, but they'd not gotten that far. Once again, he remembered the Nightmares crashing into Jamie's outstretched hand, and turning back into the Dream Sand from which they'd been spawned.

 _How could a child possess that sort of Power?_

Then Jack felt it.

His head snapped up, turning almost automatically to stare at the door marked **Pediatric ICU**.

There stood the most beautiful child that Jack had ever seen. He couldn't tell if it were a boy or girl, given the long hair, perfect face, and white robe. And even though he'd never seen one, and wasn't really sure that he believed in them, he thought for a moment that this must be an Angel.

But, being a Guardian himself, it then came to him.

"Grim!" Jack growled, raising his Staff. "What are _you_ doing here?" He looked him over again, his sense of wonder all but gone.

"Doing what I do," The Reaper said sadly, "I take this form when I have to pick up a child. It makes it easier for them."

"'Pick up a child'?" Jack gasped in shock, "You mean 'kill a child', don't you?"

" _I_ don't kill anyone," Grim reminded him, "I'm just the delivery boy! I heard that woman shouting at you, you know."

"Hang on, I died, and I don't remember _you_?" Jack wondered.

"That's because Manny handled your case," Grim explained.

"You stay away from Jamie!" Jack warned him, "If you so much as go near that operating room, I swear I'll..."

"You'll do _what_ , exactly, Jack?" Grim asked him, "We're Immortals, you know?"

"Not for long!" Jack retorted, raising his Staff. "And where's Polly? Did _she_ do this to Jamie?"

"Polly only does bacteria, viruses, and other germs," Grim informed him, "She can't do things like cancer or organ failure. Mankind causes enough of that on his own, without our help. Jack," his voice sounded sad, "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Let's take this outside," Jack growled, as the windows frosted over and the room went cold.

"Jack, I have work to do. And so do you, as I recall?" Grim reminded him.

Jack pointed the Staff at him, as Grim's appearance shifted back to that of a hooded man in a black cloak. He leveled the Scythe at Jack.

" _You_ five Guardians, I swear!" Grim snorted, "So _full_ of yourselves! You have _no_ idea what it's like to be the bad guy!"

"ME?!" Jack laughed, "That didn't work for Pitch, and it won't work for _you_!" Jack said flatly.

"Look, Frost – I'm not here for the Bennett boy now, all right?" Grim told him, "I've got a lot of work to do tonight! There's a child in there, suffering, and it's his time."

"Remember what I said," Jack said in a dangerous voice, as The Reaper nodded and flew off.

It seemed like eternity, as Jack waited at the doors to the Children's Ward. He did not return to Jamie's mother.

He waited.

"How long does it take to fix an appendix?" Jack wondered.

"As long as it takes," Tooth whispered in his ear, having sneaked up on him, "Molar in bed four!" She giggled, "Tonsils out, you know!"

Jack nodded. Then he hid his face in his hands. "I did this, Tooth," he whimpered, "Jamie was so excited over the game that he didn't tell anyone he was sick."

"Brumbies tend to do that," Bunny then said, poking his head up through a hole in the floor, "I relieved Sandy, Mate. Kids can't stay up all night! I took Sophie to the Warren."

"Yes, you get us _all_ on Naughty List!" North then put in, coming around a corner, "Manny and Mama are _not_ pleased with you just now, Jack!"

Jack looked up at them.

He smiled.

"Then what are _you_ all doing here?"

"Guarding. Is what we do!" North laughed, just as a little girl who'd sneaked out of bed came around the corner and gasped. Her arm was in a sling, and her eyes wide.

"Santa?" She wondered.

"Shostakovich!" North exclaimed.


	4. Chapter 4

**"The end is only the beginning of the best friendships."**

 **Frosted Dust**

 **Act IV**

The Middle

 _ **Frost Manor, Present Day**_

Night had fallen over the seemingly deserted ruin of a manor house, the sky filled with stars and, of course, the moon. To the north, pink and green auroras filled the sky.

But Jack Frost did not see them.

Even if he had, he would have ignored them.

There was no point.

There hadn't been for a year.

Some miles to the east, the auroras were also casting faint light over the cemetery, illuminating one gravestone in particular. The monument was covered in ice, as it always was – even in the summer – and had become the stuff of urban legend. It was said that Jack Frost himself guarded the grave, and the children of Burgess believed it.

The children knew.

January was leaving, but what the children did not know was the legend of Janus – the two-faced god who looked to the past, and future, at the same time.

Inside the house, a single sound filled the silent, frosty rooms that had once echoed with the laughter of children.

New Year wept.

 _ **Burgess Memorial Hospital, One Year Past**_

"Mrs Bennett?" The surgeon asked, peeking into the dark room, "Are you in here?"

"Jack?" She jerked awake as the light snapped on.

"Uhm, no, Fred, actually. Mrs Bennett, about your son?"

Out in the corridor, the unseen Guardians peeked in to listen.

"Is he all right?" She gasped, looking sharply at the doctor.

"No," He replied, "I won't lie to you, Ma'am – Jamie's appendix had already burst, and the mess of bacteria and waste that it released is poisoning his whole body. That's what took us so long – the cleanup. I'm sorry, but in cases like this, it's tricky. Add to that, we've also found that he..."

Neither of them heard the single word shouted in fury: "PESTILENCE!" Jack Frost drew himself up, raising his staff, and passing through the ceiling, leaving his friends behind. " _Bacteria_ , is it?" He snarled to himself, his azure eyes scanning the grounds of the hospital, penetrating the storm, looking all around for signs of any other Spirit.

Then he realized something else.

"Grim _lied_ to me!" Jack gasped, diving back inside, through the roof, and zooming down corridor after corridor until he found the recovery room. And although he'd never been there before, he knew where to find Jamie. He could _feel_ him. Furnaces kicked on all through the chilling building as Jack flew, until he crashed through the doors and stopped.

"Jack!" North was calling after him.

Bunnymund grabbed his sleeve, tiny bits of frost melting off of his whiskers. "I say we bloody well get _out_ of his way, Mate!"

"Did you see the look on his face?" Tooth gasped.

Sandy just stood there, mouth agape, with the image of a snowflake rotating over his head with a question mark.

"Remember what he did to Pitch's Nightmares that first time?" Bunnymund reminded them, "That blast of power?"

"We've got to keep his fever down," a nurse was saying, as Jamie was wheeled out, headed for ICU.

"Not a problem," Jack growled.

"Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" The orderly wondered, as Jack drew in his breath and exhaled at Jamie.

"Stay cool, Jamie," Jack told him, noting the pallor of Jamie's skin. He followed them to the ICU, watched as Jamie was settled in, then once again took to the sky, leaving his friends behind.

"Oh, this is just _sooooo_ delicious!" A voice whispered in his ear, "Mind if I come along, Jack?"

Jack turned to see a black horse tearing through sky beside him, and upon its back sat...

"Pitch!" Jack paused, turning in a graceful flip, and leveling his Staff at the Boogeyman.

Pitch Black held up his hands. "Now, now! I'm not here to interfere, Jack! I'm just along for the ride." He smiled, a sight that would have sent chills down anyone's spine, "You're scared, Jack! You're scared that little _Jamie_ is going to die? That that one precious light, so much brighter than all the rest, is going to go out? Well, not so little anymore? What's it been, five years? I'm surprised he _still_ believes in all you weirdos, old as he is!"

"Everyone is scared, genius," Jack snorted, still looking all around.

"Oh, but it's _your_ fear I crave, Jack!" Pitch crooned, "Mind if I tag along?"

"Suit yourself, I'm busy," Jack snapped at him.

"Yes, I noticed," Pitch nonchalantly buffed his nails on his cloak, "So just what is it you're doing? Out shopping for miracles? Nice blizzard," he then noted, "How many people did you kill with this one?"

"GRIM!" Jack shouted into the storm, "PESTILENCE! Show yourselves!"

"Oh, what better place to find fear?" Pitch mused to himself, "A hospital on a stormy winter night, full of sick and injured, adults and children, and all of them afraid of dying. Or," he paused, looking down, "Perhaps a _parent_ afraid of her _child_ dying?"

Jack glared at him.

"Common sense, Frost," Pitch held up his hands, "Dead people are of no use to me! They're not afraid, if they're _dead_. I'm just along for the ride this time. It's too good to pass up! A Guardian, filled with fear! How delightful!" He laughed. "If I were you, Jack, I'd be sticking close to the boy. He can't die if the Reaper can't get to him."

Jack dived again, ignoring the storm that was slowly churning its way east.

As only brief visits were allowed in the ICU, Mrs Bennett wasn't a problem. What was a problem was when she realized that she was indeed at the hospital, that Sophie was apparently home alone, and she had no idea how she'd gotten there. While Jack stood watch at Jamie's bedside, Sandy knocked her out and Bunnymund used a tunnel to take her home.

"That's got _her_ out of my way," Jack said to himself, eyes darting around the room for signs of anyone suspicious. Grim, he knew, could take on any form he chose to suit his needs, and Jack turned his full attention upon anyone entering the ward. As the night dragged on, though, he came to realize that three hundred years had been nothing in comparison to this one terrible night. Monitors beeped. Oxygen lines hissed.

And Jamie did not move. Dream Sand, it seemed, could not penetrate anesthesia.

Still, there was no sign of the Reaper or Pestilence. The other Guardians, at Jack's request, had gone on once Mrs Bennett and Sophie were safely at home.

"Jack, what can you do here?" Pitch asked him, around three in the morning, having just returned from a leisurely stroll around the place.

"Plenty!" Jack snarled, rising from his chair as a shadowy figure came through the closed doors, coalescing from a wisp of black smoke into the form of...

"The Reaper!" Pitch gasped.

"Leave," Jack ordered him.

Surprisingly, Pitch turned into shadows on the walls as Jack pointed his Staff at the figure that was now glowing like a young Angel in white. Still, the deceptive form carried the Scythe, and he lowered it in confrontation as well.

"Good luck, Frost," Pitch offered, "There's nothing for me here now!" He added, taking in the maniacal gleam in Jack's eyes, and the determined look on the face of the Reaper.

And then the Boogeyman was gone.

"I warned you!" Jack said coldly.

"Frost, I'm sorry," Grim replied, "Honestly."

"Sure you are," Jack rolled his eyes, "You lied to me!"

"Yes! I _lied_!" Grim answered, "I _had_ to! Jack, this _has_ to happen! You _don't_ understand!"

"You're _not_ taking Jamie!" Jack declared, as in a flash of brilliant light that even Non-Believers saw, Staff and Scythe met in an explosion of raw power. The temperature of the room fell further, lights went out as bulbs exploded, and dust fell from the ceiling tiles as the building shook.

Two hands then lashed out, each seizing the other by the throat, as the Immortals shot through the ceiling and up into the sky.

"Jack!" Grim choked, "This is senseless! Do you _want_ me to kill you?"

"You already _did_ that once!" Jack gasped back, as three hundred years of loneliness, confusion, and hurt came spilling out in one single blow. Grim was hurled downwards, crashing into the snow-covered ground with a great THUD! that shook the snow from the branches of the conifers and sent roosting birds flying away to find safer havens. The fall would have killed any mortal man, but Jack Frost knew better.

He might not be able to kill him, but he _could_ hurt him.

As the Grim Reaper hit the ground, Jack dived, Staff held out before him like a jousting lance.

"And if you _hadn't_ died, where would the world be now, Jack?" Grim asked, rolling out of the way of the blast of cold, blue lightning that shot from the Staff. He swung the Scythe, and again, blade and crook clashed in an explosion of power.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't have spent all those centuries wondering!" Jack replied, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp edge of the Scythe.

"You'd have died two hundred and forty or so years ago, Jack, and the world today would be drowned in darkness! Pitch Black's darkness!" Grim rasped.

Jack spun, bringing the Staff down on Grim's head, knocking him down with a skull-shattering blow.

Then Jack saw it: a red stain spreading in the snow.

"So, you _can_ be hurt!" Jack smiled, his voice...cold.

Stunned, the Reaper shook his head, decided that that was a bad idea, and weakly held up his Scythe. "Jack, wait, l-let me explain..." he just managed, surprised himself at the blow that Jack had dealt him. Never before had anyone been able to harm the Reaper. He stared into Jack Frost's hard eyes, and saw it. Then he felt it: Fear.

Somewhere in the distance, hysterical laughter.

Darkness was closing in on Grim's vision.

The Reaper was afraid.

But Jack Frost did not wait.

Back inside, in the ICU, lay a boy who was fighting for his life. It was a life that this Spirit – certainly not a Guardian – intended to cut short. And as a Guardian, it was _that_ life that mattered to Jack Frost.

It was _all_ that mattered.

 _You invest too much in this one child, Jack..._

He swung his Staff like a golf club, solidly connecting with the side of Grim's head. "YOU-" he swung again, from the other side, and blood flew, "ARE-" he slammed his bare heel into the Reaper's belly, "NOT-" and when Grim doubled up, Jack kicked him in the chin, flipping him over backwards in a spray of blood and teeth, "TAKING-" and then he drove the end of his Staff _through_ the Reaper's back, impaling him on the frozen ground, " **JAMIE!** "

Grim went stiff, splayed out in the blood-soaked snow. Blue lightning crackled all along the length of Jack's Staff. Grounded as it was, the only place to go was up. The bolt fired high into the blizzard overhead, and a clap of thunder shattered weaker windows for several city blocks. The Earth Herself seemed to shudder under the stress, even.

"Yield!" Jack Frost demanded of the fallen Reaper, twisting the Staff in his back. His eyes blazed cobalt blue, shining like beacons as his panting sent blasts of frigid air so cold that they cracked the ground.

"I...I can't," Grim was just able to gasp, "L-let me exp-p-plain..."

Jack grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up. No longer the angelic child, the Reaper looked like a battered old man who'd been run over by, perhaps, more than one passing car. He gasped again, and spat out a mouthful of blood and another tooth.

Jack Frost laughed.

And he wasn't alone.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a bell begin to ring. Darkness had long since settled upon the town of Burgess, and Jack Frost was not about to let the Brightest of the Lights be so much as dimmed.

"Are _you_ afraid of dying?" Pitch then whispered in the Reaper's ear.

"I...I have...to..." Grim tried to say, but Jack only tightened his grip on the battered man's neck. As his hood finally fell away, Jack saw that – had he not been so bloody and beaten – that he would have been quite the handsome man. Not at all the monster of common belief.

"That's _it_ , Jack!" Pitch chortled, "Another bit they didn't tell you! We all have a dark side, Jack. But it doesn't have to be a bad thing. Feel it, use it! Use it to save Jamie!"

"Jack...p-please?" Grim whimpered, his appearance then shifting into that of a battered and bloody child.

Jack Frost paused.

"NO!" Pitch exclaimed, "Trickery, Jack! This little boy isn't taking Jamie for a play date or a hockey game! He can kill him just as easily in this form!"

Then the Reaper began to lose his warm coloration. Even the blood began to turn black, then faded to gray. His skin went pale, then cyan, then gray as well, as Jack's grip tightened. Very slowly, he was freezing solid.

Jack Frost said nothing at all.

Then the Spirit known as Death shattered into frozen dust, blowing away on the wind.

"Well, _that_ was anticlimactic; he didn't even fight back?" Pitch grumbled, but still looking delighted.

Jack then turned on him.

"Now, _now_!" Pitch smiled sweetly, snapped his fingers, and then vanished into the night. "But just remember this, Jack: where there is life, there will _always_ be death!" Pitch's word echoed in the darkness, "And thank you for a lovely evening!"

Exhausted, Jack trudged back inside to the ICU where he collapsed onto the empty bed next to Jamie's. Before he lost consciousness, he reached out and took the boy's cool hand.

Jack awoke with a start, later that next night, to the high-pitched scream of a monitor gone flat-line. He saw a nurse pulling a sheet over Jamie's face. As she snapped the sheet up, a small puff of sparkling dust rose up, glowing in the yellow tint of the cheap overhead light bulb, to settle upon Jack's outstretched, empty arms. For just one insane second, Jack thought of Dream Sand.

And since no one in the ICU believed, no one heard his anguished scream.

 _ **North Pole, Same Time**_

"It is over," North sighed, hands covering his face, as a mark faded from his right forearm.

 _ **Frost Manor, Present Day**_

"But _how_?" New Year asked, wiping his face, "You...got rid of Grim?"

Jack shook his head. "As Pitch said, where there's life, there will always be death. Jamie died, and thanks to me, there was no one to take him. No one to help him. When I first became Jack Frost, when I died, the first thing I remembered was the darkness. It was dark, it was cold, and I was scared. But then I saw the moon."

"Instead of Grim?" Newbie wondered.

Jack nodded.

"But there was _someone_ there for me. In my case, it was Manny. But in Jamie's case? I'd exhausted my powers fighting Grim. I was passed out. The blizzard was so strong that not even the moonlight could penetrate it. Jamie died, and thanks to _me_ ," Jack reiterated, "He had to face the darkness all alone."

For a long while, neither said a word.

"Nonexistence?"

"Yes."

"A world without winter?" Newbie wondered.

"A world without Jamie," Jack nodded. "Of course, Grim came back. It took a day or so, though. Probably the only day in history that no one died, while he put himself back together. I spent the next few weeks searching the world for Polly Pestilence, but I never found her. I guess she got word that I was after her. I hit every war zone, famine, or dictatorial regime and labor camp I could find," Jack explained, "Anywhere there was an outbreak of disease. But I've not seen her since. Finally," he shrugged, "I gave up." He gestured around the room. "And here we are!" He shook his head, staring at the crystals on the floor. "I failed him."

"But the children still believe?" Newbie asked.

Jack chuckled, but it was cold, dead laughter. "And what I longed for, for centuries, will now keep me here, paying for my sins, until there are no children left who believe in me. Fitting, don't you think? A few years of love, or a lifetime alone?"

"Neither," Newbie whispered, finally getting up to go. He wiped the sleeve of his indigo hoodie over his face, sniffling again. "I'll be back!"

Then, on impulse, he hugged Jack. Arms that had longed to hold a boy, although it was some other, for so very long, hugged him back. It was enough.

It would have to be, to last, perhaps, for all Eternity – or until there were no Believers left.

"I'll be here," Jack sighed, watching as Newbie exited to the left down the corridor. But just as he vanished, from Jack's perspective, he reappeared from the right and stepped back into the room.

"Miss me already?" Jack wondered, as New Year held up a large Hourglass.

Jack blinked. The boy's either too-short trousers, or too-long shorts, looked a bit shorter. His hair was a touch longer, and more disheveled. His hoodie looked a little dirty and worn, and his sneakers were muddy. He shoved an Hourglass at Jack.

"The auroras are lit," Newbie told him, "I swiped this from Dad, so it's now or never!"

Jack stared at Father Time's offered Hourglass in wonder. As everyone knew, it was the focus of all of his very Being. How Newbie had managed to steal it, Jack didn't ask. That Hourglass, he knew, was the key to putting things right again.

He stared at the sand in the bottom half of the Hourglass.

One of them represented Jamie.

"I can go back, and get him to the hospital sooner!" Jack crowed, a smile lighting up his face for the first time in that long, miserable year, "Thank you, Newbie!"

"For Jamie," New Year nodded, releasing the Hourglass.

Jack Frost then turned the Hourglass upside down.

Jamie's room at Frost Manor spun away from him, as everything exploded into brilliant colors that raced past him at incredible speed. Reflected from nowhere in the top half of the Hourglass, Jack watched snow falling up. He saw clouds lighten and break apart into a clear day. Children on ice skates were moving backwards around the hockey rink. Cars were leaving the park in reverse, and children were walking backward into their homes. The sun rose in the west, and set in the east, over and over and over again!

Just a bit dizzy, Jack flipped the Hourglass upright again and landed on his butt, hard, right back in Jamie's empty room at Frost Manor.

 _ **North Pole, Same Time**_

"What the...?" Bunnymund gasped, as the globe of Lights slowed, stopped, and then began to turn backward.

"Look!" Tooth squealed, pointing at the hologram of Jack's doppelganger. It seemed taller.

"NORTH!" An old man's voice then shouted, as they all turned.

"Oh, bollocks! It's the Old Geezer!" Bunnymund breathed.

"Father! What is wrong?" North asked, gesturing at the globe, as moonlight continued to light the crystal.

"Frost has stolen the Hourglass!" Father Time informed them.

Above Sandy's head, an image of Jamie formed.

"He's trying to bring Jamie back!" Tooth gasped.

"And if he does, he could well undo all of Creation!" Father Time informed them, "That silly youngest boy of mine! Never should have let Mama send him over to try and cheer Frost up! But the planet has to have winter, you know?" The old man went on, "I mean, this isn't like a teenager sneaking the car out at night!"

"Poor old codger's gone 'round the bend," Bunnymund whispered to Tooth.

"I heard that!" Father Time snapped at him, "Old, but not deaf!"

"So if Time change," North wondered, "How is it bad thing for one boy to live, and not die?"

"It's what we had...have...planned for Jamie Bennett," Father Time explained, "I gave up on the verb tense a long time ago! Fact is, Jamie is dead. He died a year ago, from your perspective."

"But – from yours?" Tooth wondered, confused.

"From mine, as I am everywhere, every _when_ , at once," Father Time replied, pointing at the moonlit hologram, "It's an epic disaster! One boy spared, huh? How about millions dead, and millions more displaced? Starvation, disease, extinctions of entire species?"

"I knew Jamie was on Naughty List of late, but all _that_?!" North gasped, looking totally shocked.

"Why do you think we let him hang out with Frost for the last five years?" Father Time asked, "It wasn't for fun! Well, it _was-is_ , sort of," he backpedaled, "What we have to do is stop Frost!"

Sandy looked confused.

"But then Jamie still dies?" Tooth wondered.

Father Time then pointed at the hologram one more time, which had once again changed form.

"Crikey!" Bunnymund exclaimed.

"Exactly!" Father Time agreed, "In order for him to do what he was put here to do, Jamie Bennett _has_ to die!"

"That's horrible!" Tooth objected.

An image of Jack appeared over Sandy's head.

"Exactly, Sandman! Just like Jack did," Father Time agreed, "North, get the sleigh ready. We have to go stop Frost from ruining history!"

"What, you no carry spare Hourglass?" North wondered, "Are you Father Time, or _not_?"

"Everyone loves the sleigh, Mate," Bunnymund reminded him, as Father Time began studying a Snowglobe, turning it over and over in his hands.

 _ **Frost Manor, One Year and Some Days Past**_

Deciding when to stop had been tricky, but Jack Frost decided that the best time to put things right was well before that fateful night. He got up, listened at the door, and caught his breath as he looked around the messy room. Everything was everywhere, clear evidence that an almost-teenage boy lived there. He also noticed that everything was clean and in good condition. Including the house.

"No hockey stick," Jack whispered, as he crept out of the room, hoping against hope that he wouldn't meet himself. He tried hard to remember what they'd done that day, as he headed downstairs through the immaculate mansion. He'd just sneaked out the back door when he heard it: "Frost puck!" Jamie's voice called out, and Jack's heart nearly burst out of his chest. "Jamie!" He gasped, wanting so badly to just run to him, grab him up, and tell him how much he'd missed him.

Tell him how much he loved him.

"No," Jack reminded himself, watching as Jack-Past and Jamie played on the ever-frozen pond. For just a moment, a horrible vision of the ice breaking and Jamie going under flashed before his eyes. He blinked it away, knowing full well that such couldn't happen. At least, not to Jamie. Not to a Believer.

Not on this pond.

"Not on _my_ pond," Jack whispered, watching as the barefoot boy sped across the ice, small clouds of frost flying in his wake as he slammed the puck with his hockey stick. The puck shot towards the goal net, coating itself in ice, and tearing right through it.

"Now _you_ try!" Jamie traded his hockey stick with Jack, and Jack-Future watched as the boy held the Staff.

"Goes good with the blue jersey," Jack-Future told himself, remembering how he'd often said, "The Staff is not a hockey stick!" He watched as Jamie tried to teach Jack-Past how to shoot a Frost puck.

"Anytime, Mom," Jack-Future breathed, remembering his orders for the blizzard. Any minute, and Mother Nature would be calling him away to place the order.

"Jaaaaack?" Her sweet voice then called from everywhere at once.

"Who's that?" Jamie wondered, as Jack-Past grabbed the Staff back.

"Duty calls, it's Mom – Mother Nature!" Jack told him, tussling the boy's hair and frosting it over white. "Looks good on you, kiddo! I'll be right back!"

"I'll be right here!" Jamie promised, rubbing his side.

"You OK?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, pulled muscle, I think," Jamie waved it off, as Jack shot into the sky and vanished.

Jack-Future emerged from the bushes.

"Jamie?"

"Wow, that was fast?" Jamie wondered, "So how's Mom?"

"Demanding," Jack-Future answered, a hitch in his voice.

"Jack, what's wrong?" Jamie asked.

"Jamie, we need to get you to the hospital. That pain in your side isn't a pulled muscle. It's your appendix."

Jamie's face paled.

"You've had fevers, and you've been puking?" Jack-Future accused him.

Jamie nodded, hanging his head. Then he looked up. "Jack, what's that?" He pointed at the Hourglass.

"Oh! Just something of Father Time's. He'll be along for it," Jack-Future fibbed.

"How do you know it's my appendix?" Jamie then asked, sounding scared.

"We Guardians know these things, like how North can hit all those houses in one night, or Tooth knows what tooth is whose?" Jack wheedled.

"Oh!" Jamie seemed to buy it. "It does kinda hurt, bad sometimes?"

"Don't be scared, Jamie," Jack assured him.

Then he remembered Pitch.

"On second thought, a little fear _can_ be a good thing," Jack realized, "It's what makes you stop and look both ways before crossing the road, or not walking up to a strange dog? Without any fear, you'd soon get yourself killed, I wonder?"

Jamie only looked confused. "Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Am I gonna have to have an operation?"

"Yes. Does that scare you, Jamie?"

"Yes?"

"Good!" Jack took his hand, pulling him close. He kissed the boy on top of the head, catching his breath and trembling. It physically hurt when the Guardian released the boy.

"What was _that_ all about?" Jamie asked.

"Just happy to see you," Jack nearly cried.

"You were gone for like two seconds?" Jamie laughed.

"Felt like a year," Jack barely managed, as Jamie put down his hockey stick and they took off to find his mother.

"Does that hurt?" The doctor asked, as he pressed on Jamie's side.

"OWWW! YES it hurts, ya looonatic!" Jamie snapped, having picked up the word from Bunnymund.

Sitting in the corner, invisible to all but Jamie, Jack was feeling rather pleased with himself. He could still start the blizzard, and he remembered everything just the way it was. It was days before, and now Jamie's appendix would be taken out well before it could burst. No meeting with Pitch, and no fight with Grim.

"Can I get dressed now?" Jamie asked.

"No, because as soon as we can get you prepped, you're going right into surgery, young man," The doctor told Jamie and his mother. That was another thing that Jack was glad of – he hadn't needed to expose himself to Jamie's mother. "Drink that," The doctor handed the boy a bottle of fizzy red liquid. Jamie drank it. "To clean out your guts," The doctor smiled at him, "Stay near a toilet!"

"No fair!" Jamie complained.

Jack laughed as Jamie was taken to the hospital and assigned a room. Jack was still glancing around nervously, though, for fear of meeting himself. He wondered just what was taking so long with Mom this time? It hadn't taken so long before. "First time, time traveling," Jack reminded himself, wondering where Jack-Past was.

He was just peeking out and down the corridor when he saw the black shadow on the wall. "Oh, it's you," Jack greeted it, as the shadow formed up.

"Hello, Frost," Pitch Black held up his hands, "I thought I smelled a bit of fear here? Is little Jamie all right?"

"Fine, thanks. And yes, thank you," Jack smiled at him.

Pitch was on guard at once. "For what?" He took a step back.

"For fear," Jack shrugged, "For reminding us of our shortcomings, keeping us from making bad decisions, and all that. A healthy dose of fear is a good thing, I think – don't you? So long as we don't succumb to it. You see, Pitch, fear is what brought me here today. I've been hanging out with Jamie for five years now, and honestly, I'm scared silly of losing him. Thank you!"

Pitch Black looked as if he weren't sure what to do.

"Finally!" He then smiled, clapping his hand together. "A bit of appreciation! So, what's he in for?"

"Appendix."

"And he's scared?" Pitch smiled.

"Yes, just as he should be," Jack nodded.


End file.
